


No Stranger to Shifts

by borealgrove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dealing With Trauma, F/F, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borealgrove/pseuds/borealgrove
Summary: It wasn't that she felt bad, or wrong—it was that she couldn't imagine what to do with her feelings.





	No Stranger to Shifts

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Hannah never thought she'd find herself stuck with Millicent Bulstrode in the Hogwarts greenhouses, but it turns out that the toughest looking Slytherin girl is afraid of thunderstorms._
> 
> Halfway through writing this, I remembered that I was supposed to be taking inspiration from the prompt, and not just indulging in my own personal fantasies. Then I shrugged and continued on like the self-possessed Slytherin I am. Hopefully the two coincided in some way. A big thank you to my beta, M.M.B., who raised her figurative eyebrow at my original (poorly considered) thunderstorm scenes and thus smartened this here story up. She also detected and corrected many typos. Just so you're all aware.

The foliage hugging the glass walls, winding and creeping up towards the roof, obscured some of the midday sun, but not enough to prevent the room from growing warm, from taking on a golden glow. It was the first day of the year where the inside of the greenhouse felt uncomfortably humid, and the temperature outside, along with the plants drinking in all the sunlight, combined to make the air feel heavy with moisture.

Unlike the rest of the greenhouses at Hogwarts, number five had little to no enchantments on it, as it was meant to replicate a sheltered, but otherwise natural environment for local species of plants. This made it miserable to work in for most days of the year—miserable for anyone who didn't have a genuine interest in Herbology, that was.

Lucky that wasn't her.

The N.E.W.T. level project she and Ernie had taken on required mainly that they take and analyze periodic soil samples throughout the lifecycle of a perennial plant native to the Forbidden Forest. It tended to fare badly when grown in greenhouse conditions and so they'd thought they might try to take a crack at figuring out how to improve its hardiness. Once a week they trekked twenty minutes into the Forbidden Forest as well, to take samples from the soil around a wild-growing plant for comparison. Thus far, they hadn't made a breakthrough worth mentioning, but there _was_ worth in the method, in dotting every _i_ and crossing every _t_ , so to speak. It may well have made for a more exciting end to the project to be able to point definitively towards what was causing the weakness in the plant when it was greenhouse-grown, but it certainly wasn't a bad thing to strike a few more causes off the list of potentials.

Not everyone felt that way, of course. There had been quite a lot of whinging going on toward the beginning of the year (behind cupped hands or under one's breath), mainly due to the fact that Professor Sprout had made working in Greenhouse Five a requirement for their project. That had meant minimal climate control, a further restricted use of magic on and around the plants (not that they were allowed to wave their wands around all that much in the greenhouses normally), and a rather limited pool of subjects to choose from in terms of research. It was a difficult final assignment by design, and for Professor Sprout, at least, had the added perk of keeping the oldest students tucked away in a seldom-used greenhouse where they wouldn't be disrupting any lessons.

"Are you coming?"

Ernie's question pulled her back to her senses, the noise and bustle of the greenhouse returning in a gentle wave. Her attention was drawn to different points in the room—a hand packing dirt around a re-potted tangle of roots, gloves being tossed down onto a workbench, a sharp laugh ringing out from behind a row of saplings, while Pansy Parkinson looked down on its owner with cool scepticism.

"...and she hasn't been listening to a word I've been saying."

Hannah scrunched her features into an expression of contrite amusement. "Sorry, I've been putting so many late nights into this, I think it's scrambled my brain."

"All the more reason to take a break."

Hannah scrubbed her face with her hand, uncaring of the fact that she was likely tracking soil all over it. "I really just want to get this stage finished and then go collapse in bed. Despite this beautiful day."

"You're breaking my heart," Ernie murmured, letting out a small laugh as he nudged her shoulder with his own.

"Oooh, Hannah the Heartbreaker—I do like the sound of that," she joked, nudging him right back.

"You _would_ ," Ernie replied in an overly-dramatic fashion, clutching his heart in mock affront.

Hannah covered her mouth and nose with her hands as she burst into snorts of laughter, trying not to disturb their classmates, but several of them glanced over at her anyway (Pansy Parkinson, in particular, shot her an icy glare). Ernie had much better luck at silencing his own mirth. When they had both calmed down enough to remove their hands from their faces, Ernie nudged her shoulder again and said, his voice already sounding subdued, "You're sure you don't want to come outside with me."

She wondered if he had been conscious of the fact that he hadn't posed it as a question.

"Mm hmm," she answered anyway, nodding at him with a serene smile.

He hesitated, disappointment showing in his features for only a moment before he managed to wrestle them under control, and then said, "Alright, see you later, then." The smile came naturally enough at that, and he gave her a small, parting wave.

She returned it, along with a genuine smile, and watched his retreating back until the only door in and out of the greenhouse had closed behind him.

The year before, Hannah's answer would have been very different. She wouldn't have spared any doubt at leaving their project to escape down to the lake, would have sat next to Ernie on a rock and dangled her feet in the water, wheedled until he relented and did the same. 

But something had shifted with the end of the war, and sitting next to her best friend on a rock for an afternoon to talk no longer held the same cast it once had. She caught it sometimes in his gaze when he was smiling at her, noticed the tail-end of it when she turned to see him watching her with an expression she had never before seen on his face but recognized implicitly. Sitting together alone no longer meant inside jokes and playful shoves.

It meant unvoiced feelings.

Hannah was not a stranger to shifts—she knew the feel of a world crumbling and reforming, had felt it happen slowly over the course of her years at Hogwarts, much as she had tried to ignore it. Sometimes it was in the buckling of a shoe, other times in the adjustment of a ring around a finger—sometimes it was a laugh that made the world tremble, or a plait being let down in the evening, a pat of solidarity on the back of her hand.

Little by little, the world turned, the world reassembled itself, and Hannah had known beyond a shadow of a doubt that she liked girls. Liked them in a way she hadn't thought possible.

There was no book for it, no model to follow, no one to tell.

No one to ask.

It wasn't that she felt bad, or wrong—it was that she couldn't imagine what to do with her feelings. They existed, but she kept them close to her chest, and they'd seemed just fine right there under her lungs, the cause of a slight hitch of breath now and then, so small as to be nearly undetectable. But then Ernie had begun look at her in that particular way, thinking his feelings well-hidden, and her own feelings hadn't sat quite so neatly below her ribcage any longer.

Which was why, for the time being, she avoided her best friend in ways she never would have thought to before, hoping that his feelings would change so that she could pack her own back into that gentle, secluded spot she had set aside for them.

"Oh my..." Hermione's voice suddenly drifted in from her left, slightly amused. "Did Ernie desert you?"

Hannah looked up to see a friendly, but uncertain smile on the other girl's face, a cinched, burlap bag of soil hefted against her chest. "Yeah, he ran off—I didn't have the heart to insist he stay to help when the weather's so lovely today."

"I hope you don't have all that much left to do."

"I don't," Hannah assured her with a tinge of embarrassment. "I really didn't mind staying behind, though—at least we're getting the sunlight in here. And I wouldn't be able to sleep properly if I didn't finish this bit."

"I know the feeling," Hermione commented wryly.

She gave Hermione an uncertain smile. "Is your project coming along well, then?"

"Oh, yes, it's fascinating," Hermione said nodding emphatically. "Although..." She lowered her voice. "I could do with better company. Parkinson is clever, I suppose, but—" Here, she raised her voice again, sounding peevish, "— _terrible_ to work with."

"Oh, right back at you, Granger," came Pansy's viciously bored drawl, drifting over from where she stood carefully turning up soil at a worktable. "Minus the clever part—anything that comes out of your mouth I could just as well get from a book."

Hermione pressed her lips together, flashing wide, annoyed eyes at Hannah in a wordless expression of her frustration. " _Anyway_ ," she enunciated with controlled calm, "I'm going to get back to work. The sooner we finish repotting, the sooner we leave."

"I couldn't agree more." Pansy's unimpressed mutter had been just shy of inaudible.

"Right, then," Hermione said with a valiant intake of breath. "Back to work."

Hannah gave her another uncertain smile and raised her hand in acknowledgement, stopping just short of a wave when she realized the other girl had already turned her back. Hermione wasn't normally very sociable, and didn't normally give anyone other than her close friends the time of day unless specifically asked. She supposed the uncharacteristic socialization spoke to how terrible it must be to have been stuck working with Pansy Parkinson, the both of them having ended up without partners at the beginning of term. Neither of them were considered prime (or even acceptable) picks, for entirely different reasons.

Pansy Parkinson seemed to consider it her goal in life to be as condescending as possible to whoever she worked with... despite her newfound status after the war as something of a social pariah. Truthfully, Hannah wasn't certain how the Slytherin girl had managed to return to the school considering how overtly the Parkinson name had been tied to Death Eater activity, but she supposed she simply had to have faith that the governing body had known what it was doing. 

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, well... she was just far too intimidating, wasn't she? If it wasn't enough that she had been lauded as a hero in the war, had been instrumental in the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, everyone who had spent any time in classes with her was well aware of the intensity with which she approached any school assignment. There was benefitting from working with a fellow student who could provide some leadership and give an extra shine to one's own work and knowledge without imposing too strongly... And then there was having one's contributions analyzed, picked apart, and just plain re-done in the name of achieving perfect (or preferably extra) marks.

Hermione Granger as a project partner was, to put it delicately, too much of a good thing.

Hannah almost let out a little snort at the thought, but quickly pressed her lips together and concentrated harder on the work she was meant to be doing. Even after she had finished analyzing and recording the results of the latest greenhouse plant soil sample, she remained in her seat, taking out a second log book with which to record some observations just to satisfy her own curiosity. There were still many undiscovered plants in the Forbidden Forest, and even more whose properties were unknown or underutilized. Hannah didn't think herself likely to make a landmark discovery in the margins of her eighth-year Herbology project, but it certainly wouldn't hurt anything for her to poke around and try. If she were being utterly honest with herself (and she felt she could, at least in the privacy of her own thoughts), Hannah could admit that she felt considerably more excited at the thought of discovering a new edible herb than she did at discovering one with medicinal properties. Perhaps it was down to the idea that a herb would be something she could make use of herself, and right away.

In any case, there was no sense in feeling any shame over her priorities, especially when it was so unlikely she would ever be faced with choosing between them. It was the research process, rather than the result, that she took satisfaction from. The tedium of recording measurements and characteristics was a wonderful (if temporary) balm against the otherwise stressful reality of approaching exams. And the transition to adult life.

The thing of it was, Hannah still didn't have the faintest idea of what she wanted to do with hers.

So she filled her dog-eared log book with dog-eared observations while waiting patiently for inspiration to find her.

Pansy Parkinson's sudden, aggravated sigh from a nearby worktable caused Hannah's concentration to break.

"Urgh, _finally_..." The Slytherin girl closed the leather-bound cover of her log book with an audible snap. "This soil has been wreaking havoc on my manicure."

"You've cast protective charms on your hands," Hermione replied flatly.

"Check your own nails before commenting on mine."

At this unimpressed pronouncement, Hannah looked up to catch Hermione wiggling her blunt fingernails in the air between her and her irritated lab partner with considerable mockery. Hannah immediately returned her gaze to her work, pressing her lips together in an attempt to force down a laugh. She managed to hold the pose for the two-some minutes it took for Hermione and Pansy Parkinson to clear away their workspace and make a hasty exit, but once they were out of earshot, she fell into a slouch and breathed out a soft snort of leftover amusement.

Not that they'd been all that disruptive or loud when they'd been concentrating on their work, but with them (and everyone else, for that matter) finally gone from the greenhouse, it was blissfully quiet. Or at least the noises in the greenhouse now lacked intent. The wind must have picked up at some point without Hannah taking notice, because the trees and shrubs that grew nearest the greenhouse were brushing, tapping, outright slapping against the window panes. They would start out sharing the same rhythm, as if being heaved forward and back by a steady inhale, exhale—but somewhere in the middle they would all diverge, descend into their own chaotic interpretation of whatever piece it was they were meant to be playing together. The creaking and cracking with every minor shift of the wood-and-glass structure was like murmured conversation, the kind she would overhear as a child, with unnaturally long pauses and words that often made sense in isolation, but not when strung together.

She heard the first dull drops of rain falling against the rooftop when she had finally mustered up enough courage to sneak over to another team's worktable to see close-up what they had been labouring away at for so many months. It certainly wasn't a competitive project, and there wouldn't be any gain or harm on either side if Hannah simply satisfied her curiosity by taking a look at what another team had been doing, but she still felt as though she were doing something vaguely wrong as she rounded a table to get a closer peek. She supposed it said something about her that the vague feelings of guilt weren't enough to deter her.

The rain started to come down harder, and when she glanced over at the nearest windows, she could see the rain running in thick rivulets down the glass panes, the water no longer rolling away in single, lethargic droplets. The beautiful blue sky had been taken over entirely by clouds, blotting out the sun and casting the inside of the greenhouse, at least, in a feeble grey light. 

Before long, Hannah started to feel a change in temperature, and pulled the sleeves of her robes that she had bunched up at her elbows down over her wrists, rubbing at her arms and shoulders slightly to try and encourage more blood circulation. Even simple spells weren't to be cast inside Greenhouse Five except in case of emergency, so unless she was prepared to step out into the rain to cast any water repellent and warming charms for a dash back up to the castle, she would just have to wait out the worst of the storm in the slight chill of the greenhouse instead.

Thunder rumbled, still rather distant, and immediately a clatter echoed through the greenhouse, making Hannah nearly jump out of her own skin in shock.

She had been so certain that everyone else had left.

Letting out a shaky breath, she slid her wand out from the inner pocket of her robes and waited, listening intently for any new sounds like might give away who or what else was in the greenhouse with her.

A faraway crack of lightning illuminated the plants and tools inside of the greenhouse in a sudden, shadowed flash, another rumble of thunder accompanying it.

In the same moment, a voice, clearly belonging to a girl, let out a keening sort of whimper.

Hannah lowered her wand in surprise, put it away with a furrowed brow.

She cleared her throat.

"Erm... hello?"

She couldn't make out the muffled reply she got, but the suddenly-vitriolic tone of the voice led her to assume they must had been swearing.

The furrow between her brows deepened, and she tried not to let out a nervous laugh.

"Sorry?"

"Merlin's _sodding_ bollocks," the other person bit out, much louder this time, "you couldn't have left with the rest of them?"

"I'm... sorry?"

Hannah took several hesitant steps forward and came face to face with a very harassed-looking Millicent Bulstrode, who let out an aggrieved sigh at the sight of her.

"Of course it would be you," the other girl muttered with considerable frustration, rolling her eyes.

Hannah gave her a level look, then raised her eyebrow. She had never been friends with Millicent Bulstrode, never said more than a few words to her at a time, but then, Hannah had never been given cause to outright dislike her either. 

"It's fine, whatever," came the other girl's impatient (and likely insincere) apology of sorts. "Look, you just stick to your side, and I'll stick—"

The thunder rumbled again and she seized up, the rest of her sentence catching in her throat. Hannah watched a strange collection of emotions play over her face, before her lips hardened into a thin line and she turned in place, heading back the way she had come.

Hannah stared at her retreating back in surprise for moment, and then shook her head, following. "Are—are you alright?"

"Merlin and Morgana..." the other girl bit out with heavy exasperation. "Did we not _just_ agree to stick to our own sides?"

Hannah let out a nervous chuckle. "No." She craned her neck as she continued to walk, trying to catch a glimpse of the side of Millicent Bulstrode's face. "I didn't actually reply, you know."

"Well why the fuck are you holding your tongue now, then?"

Hannah sent a disapproving frown at the other girl's back. "There's no need to be rude."

Millicent Bulstrode rounded on her suddenly, and though she was not very tall, her muscular stature in such close proximity went a long way in terms of being intimidating. " _What_ do you want?"

"I just wanted to—"

This time, when the lighting cracked, Millicent Bulstrode's hands leapt up to her biceps to grip them tightly in a semblance of a hug. The thunder was so close, so loud, Hannah could feel the air virtually vibrating between them. Her frown shifted to colour with concern when she noticed the other girl's rapid breathing, her eyes darting along the glass walls of the greenhouse.

"Are you sure you're—"

" _Yes_!"

Hannah recoiled ever so slightly in shock, narrowed her eyes at the other girl for snapping.

Millicent Bulstrode groaned in frustration and cast her gaze skyward.

"Look—when I see someone upset, I ask what's wrong," Hannah explained, feeling somewhat defensive. "And if it's something I can help with, I give it a try. But if you're just going to dismiss and belittle me, I may as well go back to what I was doing and wait out the storm alone." She gave the other girl a humourless smile. "Honestly though, it looks like you could use a good distraction right now."

" _Fucking_ hell..."

Hannah shrugged, the humourless smile still in place, and turned around to walk back to the general vicinity of her workstation. There was another groan of exasperation.

"Would you just—"

Hannah crossed her arms over her chest and stopped, shifting slightly on the spot so that she could give the other girl her (mostly) undivided attention.

Millicent Bulstrode shook her head, and heaved a dramatic sigh, looking off to the side in a transparent attempt at nonchalance. The rain pounded at the roof overhead, drove into the sides of the narrow building as the storm winds whipped the droplets around.

"I'm really not the type of person to stay around when they're not wanted," Hannah finally said, realizing the silence would likely stretch on forever if she didn't make an effort to break it. "I don't know about anyone else, but I've never really understood the whole friendly antagonism thing. Either you're respectful, or you're not." She couldn't catch Millicent Bulstrode's eyes. "And if you're not, then... I have no interest in spending any more of my time here."

"So—what? You want an apology?"

"Merlin," she couldn't help but laugh, "do you even _hear_ your tone?"

The other girl finally locked eyes with her, though her expression was an odd combination of challenge and defensiveness. "I'm terribly sorry."

Her tone suggested otherwise.

Hannah snorted, shaking her own head. "I'm sure you—"

The space lit up suddenly, the thunder that boomed in its wake burying the rest of her sentence, and again, Hannah heard that whimper from before. Logically, she had known that Millicent Bulstrode had made it the first time—but a logical conclusion, and seeing the source of the whimper with her own eyes were two very different things. She found herself being glared at, as if being dared to let out even a lone chuckle.

"What... do you normally do?"

"About what?" Millicent asked through clenched teeth.

"About storms—when there's a storm, what do you normally do?"

Millicent rolled her eyes, shifting her jaw in irritation, and turned slightly away just as Hannah faced her more fully, figuring that maybe her earlier rudeness could be forgiven just for the moment. 

"I head back to the dungeons—clearly not an option here—or I cast a silencing charm, which I am also unable to do at the moment."

"You could, technically," Hannah suggested, tentatively.

"Believe it or not, I don't actually want to fuck up the environment in here for a few seconds of relief."

"But if you're that frightened, I'm sure Professor Sprout would completely understand, and I doubt one silencing charm would do any irreparable damage." Hannah tried taking a step forward, craning her neck again slightly to try to make out more of the expression on Millicent's face.

"Look, again, I'm not going to fuck up the environment here just because I couldn't handle a bit of discomfort," came her irritated reply. "And anyway, it's not just the sound, it's the fucking flashing as well. Even the rumbling in the air sets me off."

"Sets you off?" Hannah asked, before she could think better of it.

"Are you just going to parrot everything I say?"

"Wow," Hannah sighed, shaking her head and trying not to laugh in disbelief.

"What?" Millicent snapped.

"I'm..." She forced down a strange sense of absurd humour at the thought that she was having to spell out her intentions. "I'm honestly just concerned. I'm not trying to make fun of you—you don't have to bite my head off."

" _Fucking_ Hufflepuff..." Millicent murmured in a long-suffering tone.

"You say that like an insult," Hannah said, forcibly adopting an airy tone, "but I'll take it as a compliment."

Millicent brought one of her broad hands up to her face to rub at it with a groan of frustration.

"Look," Hannah said, unable to help but laugh a little, "if you really need there to be an underhanded motive here, then let's say I'm being nice to you not to make fun of you, but because I can see that it irritates you."

That got a snort of disbelief out of the other girl, and a very slight tip of the lips.

"But really, you're clearly not having a great time here, and I'm stuck in the same space with you, so if there's a way I can help, why shouldn't I?"

Millicent rolled her eyes again, but seemed somehow less hostile about it.

"Do you think maybe sitting and having a conversation might help?" Hannah suggested, moving another step closer to her. "Otherwise, I probably have a pack of cards or a few gobstones lining the bottom of my knapsack—might be a bit harder to feel scared when you're having fun."

"We have different definitions of the word 'fun'," Millicent replied, deadpan. "And I'm not scared—this is completely involuntary."

Hannah winced. "Well, not to be insensitive, but... fear usually _is_ involuntary."

"No, I mean, I'm not afraid of storms in the way that anyone with any amount of common sense would fear facing a Death Eater. Intellectually, they're not frightening." Millicent crossed her arms in front of her chest and finally turned back towards Hannah. "My body just reacts of its own volition."

"So you don't know _why_ it does?"

"I didn't say that."

"Oh."

Hannah waited, but Millicent didn't offer anything more, just stared quietly off to the side, muscular forearms crossed over her chest. Which Hannah willed herself to look away from when she felt a very familiar (and most unwelcome) dip in the pit of her stomach.

"Maybe we could try sitting in amongst the shelves over there, or near the sinks?" Hannah spoke up, gesturing even though Millicent wasn't looking her way. "I think they're probably the most isolated areas in the greenhouse in terms of being able to see outside."

"I _was_ amongst the shelves."

"Right. The sinks, then. It couldn't hurt, could it?"

"Your optimism is more grating than the damned—"

A bolt of lightning cast the area in a split-second of harsh, bright light, and Millicent began shaking visibly. She startled so badly at the sudden boom of thunder that followed, nearly overhead, that she started coughing, pounding the centre of her chest with each halting breath until her airway finally sounded clear. She doubled over and continued to take great, heaving breaths, shuddering with each exhale, until her breathing slowed and went back to normal. At which point she straightened back up, gestured lengthwise along her chest, and said, "saliva went down the wrong... thing."

"You alright?"

Millicent answered the concern with an annoyed frown.

"Sorry," Hannah replied, meaning it. "Stupid question. Come on—let's try sitting down out of the way a bit."

Millicent crossed her arms back over her chest, tucking her shaking hands as tightly into the crooks of her arms as she was able, but did as Hannah had suggested, and turned to walk over towards the sinks. Hannah followed her until Millicent stopped abruptly and scoffed.

"What is it?"

"The floor—it's full of soil and runoff from the sinks."

Hannah waited, but there was no further explanation. "And?"

"And—you'll get your robes dirty if you sit down." Millicent did just that, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow, as if she had just drawn a definite line in the sand.

Hannah let out a short bark of laughter. "I'll wash them," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Getting dirty is what robes are for."

"Are they?"

"Maybe... I don't really know." She settled herself down on the floor, crossing her legs and letting her hands rest in her lap. "I mean, not that I don't enjoy the way they look, but, robes are fairly useless in most respects, aren't they?"

Millicent snorted again. "Where do I even start?"

Hannah glanced over at her with an inquisitive smile.

"They're not useless at all. The pockets were originally made to hold potion ingredients, the dark colours to trap sunlight, and haven't you ever felt a bit of a breeze when you cast a spell?"

She creased her eyebrows sceptically. "Yes, I... suppose?"

"Well that's magic being trapped by the robes, which in turn helps your casting be more effective. My mother's poured decades of research into the history of wizarding robe-wearing."

Hannah sighed, shaking her head and covering her eyes with a disbelieving smile. "You're pulling my leg."

"I am _absolutely_ pulling your leg, yes."

"How dare you!" Hannah exclaimed, indignant but laughing all the same; she gave Millicent a gentle sideways shove in retaliation.

"My mother _is_ a historian," the other girl replied with a bit of a chuckle, "and I'm certain she could talk at length about how we British wizarding folk came to wear robes, but I doubt it had anything to do with them trapping magic like fucking bat wings."

"You almost had me," Hannah complained with a soft growl of frustration.

Millicent snorted, though she was wearing an almost-smile. "I suppose hiding a wand in robes may have been a factor in the beginning, as one could blend in easily, but no one wears robes in the Muggle world these days, so that point is now moot."

"Well..." Hannah heaved a sigh, turning her head slightly so she could give Millicent a wry look, "I've managed to learn at least one new thing today, so—thank you."

"What a dubious honour."

"Do you... like history, then?"

" _Like_ isn't the right word. It's more that it comes easily to me."

"Because of your mum?"

"Not exactly." Millicent shifted, bending both her legs so that she could rest her elbows on her knees. "My family is sort of known for their historical re-enactments, and especially for hosting medieval festivals, so I was brought up in an environment of fact-checking and a tangible fascination with the past. I suppose it rubbed off on me a little."

"Oh, wow, I had no idea."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you? Your family never would have been put on the guest list." 

Hannah gave her a flat frown.

Millicent let her head fall back in exasperation. "I wasn't trying to be rude, alright? That's just a fact—we were toeing the line. Fucking pureblood politics."

"Alright," Hannah said, holding her hands up and nodding, "I believe you."

"Wonderful," came the deadpan response.

"Erm..." Hannah found herself giggling, though she wasn't certain why. "Medieval festivals... what are those like? I've never been to one before."

"Oh, you know—feasts, dancing, full period dress, re-enactments of the court... and of course, tourneys."

"Tourneys?"

"Jousting, the melee, feats of archery on occasion... though my mother frowns upon the inclusion of archery."

"Sounds terrifying."

"It may look it from the stands, but it's not particularly frightening for the participants. We certainly don't fight to the death—the swords are blunted—but that doesn't mean it's perfectly safe. In jousts, for instance, our horses are given lots of protective enchantments, but the riders wear nothing but their armour, otherwise it wouldn't be authentic." She tilted her head slightly, reconsidering. "Casting protective enchantments on the horses isn't historically accurate, come to think of it, but every now and then my mother is lenient on details when it suits her. Anyway—getting unseated from one's horse certainly does happen, and while the horse is usually fine, it's not a very pleasant experience for the rider. It's generally expected that if you can manage to pull yourself back up onto your horse, you continue the joust, regardless of the amount of pain you're in. I've been pierced by shards of broken lances more times than I can count, have hauled myself back up with broken bones—I suppose the armour helps minimize the damage from moving around."

"Oh, wow, then you—"

"I've been training since I was a child for tourneys, though jousting has become my specialty."

"That's pretty amazing. I honestly had no idea people still did that."

"Believe it," Millicent shrugged.

"I had kind of always assumed that you played Quidditch or, or were just... erm..."

"An aggressive cow? Oh, don't worry," she said in a tone that managed to be both sarcastic and bitter, "I get that one a lot, though not usually to my face. Anyway—frankly, Quidditch is a soft sport, and I have no patience for teamwork. Though I suppose I could think of my horse and I as a team..." She tilted her head again in thought. "Hmm. No, it's more that we're of one body and mind while on the field."

"Right, you _would_ need your own horse, wouldn't you? What's its name?"

"Bub, actually."

"Erm..." Hannah, unsure of how to respond, let out an awkward chuckle.

"That's short for 'Bubonic Plague', in case you were wondering," Millicent supplied in a wry but helpful sort of tone.

"Oh—" Hannah started laughing in earnest, still not entirely certain whether her leg was once again being pulled.

"It wasn't my choice, believe me," Millicent continued. "That's my mother's morbid sense of humour—he's been in the family since I was a child, and we took to one another early on, so he became my horse. It seems he enjoyed his own name, though, because he wouldn't respond to anything else when I became old enough to understand how fucked it was to have named him after the Plague."

The sky cracked and Millicent's stiff jawline, her wide, staring eyes, were lit up by the lighting, the ground vibrating minutely with the storm passing ever closer overhead. The sensation escalated rapidly in intensity until the thunder broke over them with an incredible rumble. Millicent took in and let out several uneven, shaky breaths, rocking slightly with each one. Hannah, unsure of what else to do, tried to thread their conversation back through its needle in order to continue it.

"Your horse's name must strike terror in the hearts of your opponents, surely?"

Millicent scoffed, but when Hannah took a good look at the profile of her face, she seemed more amused than anything else. Though she continued to shake.

"Does it feel worse now, or better?"

Millicent shrugged, opening her mouth to reply and then closing it with a shake of her head. She stared at the workbench facing them, at the tangle of stool legs, and then said, "it's the same, really."

"Are you maybe... remembering something?"

She sighed, tightening her arms around her knees and pulling them closer. "Do we have to do this?"

"Of course we don't," Hannah assured her with a slight laugh, tucking her hair back behind her ears. "But I just thought, maybe it might help to talk about it a little. I'm not trying to pry, I'm just, you know—being a friend."

"Oh, so we're friends, now?"

" _Slytherins_..." she trailed off with a chuckle, making sure that Millicent took notice of the good-natured smile she wore.

"I suppose I deserved that."

"A little," Hannah agreed, sticking her tongue out a bit as she grinned. "But... back to the matter at hand. What's on your mind right now?"

"I'm wondering whether it's possible to be chatted to death."

Hannah shot her an annoyed frown, raising her eyebrow when the other girl didn't relent quickly enough.

"Are we really doing this?"

"I'm really not trying to force you."

"...right."

"I'm not! I really do think it might help."

" _Kill them with kindness_ isn't an expression for nothing, you know."

"I'm glad you think I'm being kind."

"That's not—" Millicent let out a groan of frustration, causing Hannah to start giggling.

"I'm... sorry," Hannah got out between giggles.

"No you're bloody well not," Millicent shot back in annoyance, but without any real bite. "Alright— _Merlin_. I fucking yield."

Hannah tried not to outright laugh at the exasperation in Millicent's voice, but couldn't help herself. She stretched her legs out in front of her, flinching when the backs of her calves touched the relative chill of the stone floor. She leaned back against the door of one of the cupboards beneath the sinks and waited, picking absently at one of the seams in her cloak.

"This is stupid..." she heard Millicent mutter beside her. The other girl raised her voice, though, before Hannah could protest. "The grounds back home have anti-apparition wards and when I was maybe five or six years old, I got stranded."

"How?"

"My grandfather had brought me to help feed and water the horses before supper—the stables were at a fair distance from the castle—"

"The _what_?" Hannah interrupted with a short laugh.

"The castle," Millicent repeated, turning to look at her with a raised eyebrow. "It's not _that_ uncommon. I can't remember exactly why, but he left to fetch something at the castle that apparently couldn't wait, telling me he would be back shortly and that I could start giving the horses treats if I liked—we always had a bucket of produce sitting in the stables just for that. So I did. Beatrix, our Kneazle, was with me, so I figure that was why my grandfather decided to leave me there the way he did."

"Was it a bit unnerving being there alone?"

"No, not at all. I spent a lot of time in the stables normally, and Beatrix was always following me everywhere I went. I can't remember what I was thinking, but I certainly wasn't anywhere near uncomfortable. Even when the downpour started outside. The stables were constructed mainly of thick wooden planks and beams so inside it stayed quiet and warm; I doubt the storm bothered me much at all when it started. Bothered the horses, though—that I remember very clearly. They were shuffling and pawing at the ground nervously, more and more as the thunder got louder." She stopped to clear her throat. "Even when the stables caught fire, I didn't quite notice at first. I do remember getting goose pimples, and the noise did startle me when the lightning struck, but for whatever reason, it didn't alarm me. It was really the horses starting to go wild that did it—one of them screamed and jumped its enclosure, nearly trampling me as it barrelled out the only door that was ajar. I'm not sure how long it took my grandfather to return, but the fire progressed really quickly, covered the entire outer structure and then came in through the open door—the noise was incredible. I was completely frozen, the horses were panicking... I'm sure I would have died if Beatrix hadn't been there."

Hannah looked over at the other girl in horrified sympathy, though Millicent continued to stare straight ahead. Her trembling hands were at odds with her strangely flat tone of voice.

"She was meowing at me, butting at my legs—then biting, when being gentle didn't work. She got me to move and crawl under the door of the stall of the horse that had jumped earlier, and that's where we both curled up until help arrived. As you know, shielding spells are energy-intensive, so it was only the stalls that were shielded. Everything else was unprotected. Which makes sense, of course—any witch or wizard could have just whipped out their wand and cast their own shielding spell in that situation or, hell, they could have extinguished the fire before it got out of hand. I'm sure they never quite imagined a child would find themselves alone in that situation. But it happened. Clever Beatrix could probably see the spell lines and knew it was our only chance, to hide in that stall. You know, she could have escaped, herself—after the horse did. She really did risk her life for me."

"That's... amazing." Hannah breathed, before she caught herself. "I mean, no, I should say—the experience must have been horrific, it's just... Beatrix sounds like an amazing Kneazle, to have saved your life that way."

"She was," Millicent replied quietly, her voice warming with a measure of emotion for the first time since she had started telling the story.

Without thinking, Hannah reached out to place her hand over one of Millicent's knees, squeezing slightly. "I'm so sorry." The other girl said nothing for several moments, and then Hannah suddenly realized what she had done, and pulled her hand away hastily. "Merlin—I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

"Relax," Millicent finally replied in a wry murmur. "I'm not going to sound the alarm."

"I just didn't intend to make you feel uncomfortable," Hannah explained, wincing as she gestured between them. "I'm a very—you know, it's probably more to make myself feel better, when I do things like that. I don't think I'm really considering at all what the other person wants or is comfortable with in those moments."

Millicent surprised her by chuckling. "Talking an act of compassion down into selfishness? Now there's a talent, if I've ever seen one."

"It's true, though."

"I'm sure," she chuckled again, sounding anything but. "Would it be better if I reached out to take your hand first if things are about to get sentimental? Would that warn away the fears of selfishness?"

"Oh, fine, make fun..."

Millicent snorted, and when Hannah looked over at her again, she was wearing a grudging smile. "May I continue?"

"By all means," Hannah replied, feeling somewhat flustered, though not in an unpleasant way. Before she could think on why that was, Millicent went on.

"My grandfather eventually returned, and I seem to remember someone else was with him, but... not much beyond that. The fire was put out, the stables repaired, and they even managed to find the horse that had run off. Happy ending, and all that. But I've never been able to do thunderstorms since then. I can cast an adequate shield charm, but it just..." she shrugged. "It's completely stupid."

"Oh, now—that's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Hannah admonished with a lopsided frown, causing Millicent to let out a bark of disbelieving laughter.

"You're trying to tell me off for feeling my own emotions?"

"No!" Hannah exclaimed in a laugh, taken aback. She caught sight of Millicent's raised eyebrow and had to look away, her cheeks warming in embarrassment. "Well, alright, maybe a little..."

"That's some nerve you've got," Millicent told her, sounding more amused than annoyed.

"It's just," she shot back earnestly, before she could think to stop, "Muggles have a term for what you're going through, and it's not stupid at all—it's a completely logical, well-documented sort of illness."

"They consider feeling emotions an illness?" The other girl asked, incredulous. "Are _they_ mad?"

"What? No!" Hannah laughed again, shaking her head. "Feeling emotions isn't an illness, but sometimes, the _way_ that emotions are felt can be a symptom of an illness. There are many different kinds, and it's all rather complicated, but this one in particular they call 'post-traumatic stress'."

"Of course they would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Millicent let out a groan. "Nothing. _Merlin_. I'm grumpy, alright?"

"That's true enough," Hannah relented, giving her a small smile. "Just don't—"

The greenhouse lit up in another flash and Millicent flinched, her back connecting with the cupboard door behind her while she let out a grunt of shock. Hannah reached out for the hand closest to her as the thunder crashed overhead and was surprised when she wasn't pushed away, when Millicent's fingers curled around her own, squeezed almost to the point of discomfort as thunder again echoed through the room, knocked against her ribs. Then it quieted down to a rumble, as if in an afterthought, and was done.

Millicent exhaled a short huff of air, and let her head fall back against the cupboard door, bringing her other hand up to massage the bridge of her nose, and then cover her eyes. It took Hannah the better part of a minute to realize that she was crying.

"I'm so sorry you're going through this," Hannah said quietly, squeezing her hand in a tone just as gentle.

The other girl chuckled humourlessly through the tears. "It's ridiculous. It was over a _fucking_ decade ago."

"I know," she murmured sadly. "That's pretty common, too. And remember when you were saying earlier that you're not really afraid of the storms themselves?"

Millicent sniffed sharply, nodding as she wiped away the dwindling tears.

"The Muggle doctors describe the illness as the result of going through something horrible, and then constantly reliving the feelings or experience, especially when you encounter something related to that experience. So, in your case, the thunder and lightning makes you feel as though you're still a five year old girl with no way to protect yourself."

"Fuck," Millicent breathed, shaking her head again and looking down at her lap. "How much more of this sensible bollocks are you planning to lay on me this evening?"

Hannah felt her stomach dip when Millicent squeezed her hand again, gently this time, the other girl's thumb drawing a small circle over the back of her palm.

"I—I don't know..." She pressed her lips together, afraid that if she moved, that if she said the wrong thing, Millicent would pull away from her.

Afraid that the gesture was an empty, unconscious one.

"So, do the Muggles have a cure for this, then?"

"Ah, not exactly, no," she replied, hesitant.

"Could have used one."

"You and a lot of other people." Hannah chanced a look over at Millicent's face, unable to help but smile at her. "But, erm... for what it's worth, I think you've been given an unexpected gift here."

"Really."

"Definitely. You normally avoid these storms, right? But this time you haven't been able to. As strange as it might seem, facing the storm is the best possible thing you could do. It's sort of like facing a fear, except the fear is tied to a very specific memory, so it's more like... you have to create a new memory to replace the old one. It's not exactly about proving to yourself that storms aren't normally dangerous, it's more about getting your mind to realize that you're a capable adult witch now. That you could cast a shield charm if needed. And actually, that is something you should definitely do at some point—go out into a storm and cast a shield charm. Chances are, you'll need to do it over and over again for it to really stick, but it works for loads of people."

When Millicent made no reply, Hannah looked over, only to find the other girl watching her with a considering expression. She hastily turned her gaze back to the stool legs she had been staring at earlier, acutely aware of the way their hands were still linked. She let out a slow, shaky breath, hoping it hadn't been noticeable. "Erm, I actually—was experiencing something similar after the Battle of Hogwarts and I guess even before that, after my mum passed away. I would flinch quite badly whenever someone would draw a wand, which..." She trailed off with a self-conscious laugh, remembering, "is pretty hard to avoid when you're living in the wizarding world. So I really had no choice but to keep enduring those sorts of moments, and it got a little easier over time. Honestly, though? I still get that awful jumpy feeling pretty often." Hannah shifted, uncrossing and bending her legs so that she could pull her knees against her chest with her free hand. "But, see, going from 'all the time' to 'pretty often' has made such a difference in my day-to-day life. I know, at the back of my mind, that there's always a chance that wands could be drawn with unfriendly intent, but... it's at the back of my mind now, not at the forefront anymore."

"Do you think that the lightning struck with unfriendly intent, back when I was a snotty five-year old?"

Hannah shook her head, feeling terrible at how much the question was making her laugh; Millicent was watching her again, lips curled slightly upward with mirth.

"You're terrible!"

The reprimand might have had more impact if she hadn't been laughing through it.

"I save all of my manners for days when I have to play the part of a knight."

"I'd honestly like to see that," Hannah admitted, continuing to laugh.

"I suppose I could grease a few palms and get you on the guest list."

Hannah gasped in mock-astonishment. "You're admitting to an intent to bribe?"

"If you want to come see me compete, then yes, I would be willing to bribe a doorman," Millicent chuckled.

"That is.... oddly flattering," Hannah continued to laugh. "I mean, I don't approve of bribery, all the same, but I do appreciate the thought."

"You are so..." Millicent trailed off with a snort of amusement. "I'm not _actually_ going to bribe anyone. I'm going to tell my mother to add your name to the list and that'll be the end of it."

"Oh." Hannah couldn't stop laughing—felt her cheeks going red.

"I have some political clout around the family castle, you see."

"You really do live in a castle?"

"Yes." Millicent raised one of her eyebrows. "And if I'm not mistaken, so do you."

It took Hannah a moment, but then she was letting her forehead fall forward onto her knees, groaning in grudging amusement. "That's not what I meant."

"I'm sure." The other girl was quiet for a breath, and then she added, "I'll give you a tour of the building if you ever do decide to attend a festival. It's nowhere near as large as Hogwarts, but it has its charms."

"I'd love that," Hannah assured her, turning her head where it still rested on her knees and shaking the hair out of her face so that she could give Millicent a smile. "I have to admit, though, that it's a surprise you're actually sitting and talking to me—a nice surprise, I mean—that, despite the circumstances we're having a really interesting conversation, and you keep making me laugh, and you've even invited me to see one of your tournaments—" Hannah stopped herself, starting to feel embarrassed at her candor. "Sorry."

"Merlin and Morgana, do you always apologize this much?"

Hannah scrunched up her nose in distaste. "Kind of."

Millicent started laughing, letting the back of her head rest against the cupboard again. 

"What?"

"Asking a question like that just makes it funnier."

"I take it back," Hannah declared in mock-offense. "You're not funny."

"Hmm, no," Millicent replied in a considering tone. "No, I don't think that's how that works."

Hannah started laughing, despite herself. "Please, let me have this."

"I think chivalry is a load of bollocks—always have," Millicent replied in a dubious tone, "but who am I to deny another lady her happiness?"

Hannah grinned over at the other girl, and she could still hear the rain pounding against the window panes in a rush, but it felt comfortable now, even knowing that at any moment another clap of thunder might break the mood for several minutes. She couldn't quite believe that they were sitting and laughing together, that somehow—

"I always sort of thought... that you might be like me."

Hannah stared over at the other girl, body going hot and then cold at the serious expression that had overtaken Millicent's face. Her jet-black hair was still braided and pinned neatly atop her head, but with all the times she had let her head fall back against the cupboard door, several tendrils had begun to stick out stubbornly. "Like... what?" Hannah finally managed to ask, feeling like her tongue was made of lead.

Millicent slowly brought their linked hands up her to lips, kissed the back of Hannah's gently, watching her. "Like me," she repeated in a quiet murmur against Hannah's skin.

Hannah's breath caught in her throat.

And she couldn't say a word.

Her heart pounded.

"Can I kiss you?" Millicent asked in a breathless murmur, still watching her—and Hannah had never truly felt the weight of her invisibility before that moment, before someone had asked for permission to lift it. 

She pressed her lips together, wondering why she felt so much like crying, but raised her head from where she had still been resting it on her knees, and nodded, sending the other girl a split-second smile. Her heart pounded.

Millicent finally let go of her hand, but it was just so that she could shift closer to where Hannah sat, so that she could reach up to run her fingers through Hannah's messy hair instead. Pull their faces closer, until their lips touched.

Hannah could feel Millicent's thumb resting against her cheek, warm and slightly calloused.

"How did you know?" She finally asked when their lips parted, the question barely loud enough to reach her ears. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Calculated risk," Millicent replied with a slight, self-satisfied smile. "I'm used to making bold moves. You'll see."

Hannah pressed her lips together again, trying not to laugh, but despite her best efforts, several giggles escaped anyway. Millicent decided to muffle them with her lips—seeing as how the amusement had been at her own expense. Hannah could feel a smile Millicent had been trying to hide pressing softly against her own.

"Speaking of bold moves..." Hannah began when they had parted again, slightly more out of breath. 

"In here? I think that would be pushing it."

"What? Oh—no. No!" Hannah shook her head vigorously, feeling the heat of the embarrassment colouring her cheeks. "Nope, that is not—I mean, I'm not saying _never_ , but—"

"Stop." Millicent was laughing. "I was joking. I know that's not what you meant."

Hannah gave the other girl her best annoyed look (which to be fair, wasn't the least bit effective), but within seconds it crumbled away and left behind a shy smile. "I bet the storm's almost over—I was thinking we could maybe try stepping outside, or even heading back to the castle."

Immediately, the relaxed expression on Millicent's face faltered, and Hannah felt the hands still cradling her head and her neck stiffen with the suggestion.

"Do you trust me?" Hannah asked, aware of how big the question was, how impertinent it was, even.

Millicent sighed, tone turning sardonic. "As much as you can trust _any_ Hufflepuff."

Hannah smiled, relieved. "A whole lot, then."

Millicent rolled her eyes, but Hannah could see the humour in them, could spot the slight tip at the corners of her lips.


End file.
